


(Mini) Ficlets: Darkness and Light (Plus PROMPT request - see notes!)

by addicted2hugh



Series: Ficlet Collections [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Asexual Sherlock, Beach Holidays, Bedtime Stories, Character Death, Dialogue-Only, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Emotional Roller Coaster, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, John is Not Okay, M/M, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, POV Third Person, Parentlock, Past Mary Morstan/John Watson, References to Canon, Sherlock Is Not Okay, Sherlock is a Good Parent, Sherlock is a Mess, Sherlock's Voice, Smut, The Boys Are SO in Love, Various Ratings, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 09:31:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15191870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addicted2hugh/pseuds/addicted2hugh
Summary: A collection of six Johnlock ficlets (not connected) centred around the themes darkness (angst angst ANGST) and light (some humour and a lot of very fluffy fluff). I'm experimenting with styles again.If you want to skip the angsty stuff, jump right to the second part.





	(Mini) Ficlets: Darkness and Light (Plus PROMPT request - see notes!)

**Author's Note:**

> And here's a request: If you feel like it (and what I mean by that is please, PLEASE), leave me a Johnlock drabble/fic prompt in the comments. It can be anything - a song title, a meme, a picture, or just some random keywords. I'd love some new ideas to play around with. I'd be very grateful for your input!

**DARKNESS**

 

**_Not Today_ **

“Why are you staring at me? It’s getting creepy,” John says, getting up from his chair to face the man watching him from across the room.

Sherlock walks towards him, looking him straight in the eye, and, as always, a shiver runs down John’s spine. It’s been over a year since they took the step from being friends to being more, being _everything_ to each other, but the effect of Sherlock’s – his _lover’s_ – gaze on him hasn’t diminished in the slightest.

“Do you think we’d be together if Mary hadn’t died?” Sherlock asks, stopping his approach, keeping a careful, safe distance between himself and John.

John swallows.

“I… don’t know. I’m sorry. I really don’t know. What do you think?”

Sherlock smiles a brief, tight-lipped smile.

“I think you’d never have left her and Rosie. You’re too… good for that.”

John’s heart clenches in his chest. _Good_ is the last thing he is. Has Sherlock forgotten that he cheated on Mary by texting his crazy sister in disguise?

“I don’t think I am,” he replies, his jaw set.

Sherlock shakes his head, his beautiful curls falling into his forehead. He brushes the stray strands aside with a careless movement of his hand.

“Oh, I know you are,” he mutters.

They look at each other, the short expanse of floorboards beneath their feet stretching out like an insurmountable obstacle, like an ocean of unsaid things. John hates it.

“I can’t read you right now, Sherlock,” he admits softly.

He doesn’t know what else to say, what to do to make this better, so he simply closes the distance between them with three deft steps and wraps his arms around Sherlock’s waist. The other man’s expression doesn’t betray any emotions whatsoever. John gets on his toes and bumps his nose against Sherlock’s, asking for permission, and when Sherlock tilts his head and closes his eyes, he leans forwards the rest of the way and brushes his lips with a slow, tentative kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers. “We’re together _now_ , and we’ll always be.”

Sherlock doesn’t answer, but nips at his lips and slides his tongue into his mouth, and John opens up willingly, melting into his embrace. He hopes the kiss and whatever is about to follow it will distract Sherlock from the fact that the deduction he’s just made is probably completely correct.

John is always the first one to praise him for being right every time.

But not today.

 

**_Freak I_ **

_I can do it_ , John had said. _I don’t care, Sherlock. I really don’t. I just want to be with you._ Now, three months later, Sherlock wonders whether that’s still true. They’re in bed, kissing, which is quite nice, but they’re also _trying_ again, which stresses Sherlock out. He doesn’t even know why he always instigates it – it’s not like you can simply stop being asexual just because you’ve found the love of your life. He loves John – more than anything. But he doesn’t want to have sex. He _can’t_ have sex. They’re close to each other right now, so close, and he can feel John’s arousal enveloping him in blind, insane heat, his hardness so terribly present between their bodies, and he’s painfully aware of his own flaccid penis, even _more_ present somehow, nestled against John’s thigh. Why can’t he be normal? Why is this so difficult? Why is he such a freak? “I’m sorry,” he whispers into the damp space between their mouths. “I’m sorry, John.” John sighs and buries his hands in Sherlock’s curls, pressing their foreheads together. “It’s… okay,” he whispers back, breathing heavily. “I just--- I need to---” Sherlock knows he’ll get up now, and go to the bathroom, and when he comes back, he’ll be calmer. They’ll cuddle and then fall asleep. And they’ll try again next time. When John lets go of him and makes to roll away, he stops him. “Stay,” he murmurs and runs his palm down the flexing muscles of the other man’s arm, studying the way the touch causes goosebumps to rise all over the golden skin. “Sherlock---” John starts, but Sherlock doesn’t let him finish. “Shhh… I know. It’s alright…” He pulls him back against his body and kisses his neck and then, not knowing what he’s doing at all, just wraps his fingers around his stiff length. “ _Fuck_ ,” John gasps, his lids fluttering shut. “ _Ngh._ You don’t have to---” Sherlock knows that John means it. But he also knows that he _does_ have to if he wants to keep him. John doesn’t realise it, but his body keeps getting more and more demanding, and one day his head and his heart will no longer be able to overrule the need burning inside of him. Loving the freak will not be enough anymore. And then he’ll go and look for it somewhere else. And that will kill Sherlock. So what choice does he have? He closes his eyes and rubs up and down in what he hopes is the right way, and John groans softly and hides his face by pushing it against Sherlock’s chest, and Sherlock puts his free arm around him and strokes his hair. “Sherlock,” John breathes. “Ah… _Sherlock_ …” His hips thrust into Sherlock’s grip, showing him the rhythm he needs, and Sherlock bites his lip and goes with it, shivering with involuntary repulsion as he feels the slide of his hand become slicker, pre-ejaculate getting smeared all over his palm and John’s shaft, and John moans then, deeply, _so good_ , _don’t stop_ , and Sherlock hears it and doesn’t feel _anything_. It doesn’t take long. After a minute or two, John goes rigid in his arms and reaches his climax, his relieved sigh singeing Sherlock’s skin, and Sherlock squeezes the back of his neck and sobs silently when the wetness of the other man’s semen hits his stomach in three forceful spurts. He loves him so much. “ _God._ ” John is panting, melting against Sherlock’s body, boneless and spent. Sherlock holds him tight and kisses his ear. “I love you,” John mumbles into his shoulder. “I love you so much, Sherlock…” Sherlock doesn’t answer. John needs this. He’ll do it for him. And if he waits for John to go to sleep and then steals into the bathroom to clean himself up and cry, John doesn’t have to know. After all, John is normal. Sherlock is the freak.

 

_**Too Late (Tragedy)** _

Mycroft saves Sherlock from his Serbian torturers. He puts him in hospital and watches him being stitched up; then he gives him his coat and flies him to London. He takes him to Baker Street. When they arrive, Mrs Hudson cries and hugs him, holds him tight, and Sherlock bites back the stinging pain her fingers cause when they brush his wounds and hugs her back and wonders whether she's at all happy that he's home. Tears of joy look different, he deduces. And where's John? Over the top of Mrs Hudson's head, he stares at his brother. "Where's John?" he asks. Mrs Hudson clings to him, and her sobbing intensifies. Mycroft's features twist into an expression that's such an alien sight to Sherlock, at least on _this_ face, that it takes him a while to identify it. It's helpless agony. "Where's John?" he repeats. Panic settles in his chest. " _Mycroft_. Where's John? Where's _JOHN???_ "

 

**LIGHT**

**_Guess How Much I Love You_ **

“John.”

“Hi, Sherlock.”

“You look terrible.”

“Thanks, babe. I love you too.”

“What’s wrong? What’s that noise in the background?”

“Rosie’s been asking for _Shello_ to come and read her a bedtime story. That’s her, making it known that you’re sorely missed at Baker Street. Thank God it’s Mrs Hudson’s Bingo night today. I hope I’ll manage to calm her down before she comes back.”

“Did you tell Rosie I’m out of town for the night?”

“Oh, _of course_.”

“So?”

“She’s not even _two_ , Sherlock! She doesn’t understand the concepts of space and time yet!”

“Did you try and read the story yourself?”

“I did. But it’s _Shello_ or nothing, I’m afraid.”

“That’s quite flattering.”

“I hate you.”

“Oh, we both know you absolutely don’t mean that.”

“ _Git._ ”  

“Take me to Rosie’s room.”

\---

“Hey, sweetheart, look who it is. It’s Sherlock! Right here on the screen, see?”

“Hello, honeybee.”

“Shello!”

“Yes, hi, Rosie. Why are you keeping your daddy up, hm?”

“Dada.”

“Yes, that’s right. Stop crying now. I’ll tell you the story of Little Nutbrown Hare again, okay? I know that one by heart. Can you hold me like that, John? So she can see me?”

“Sure. I’ll just sit here. Enjoying the blissful absence of screaming.”

“Okay. Little Nutbrown Hare, who was going to bed…”

\---

“John? _John?_ ”

“ _Hrmpf?_ ”

“She’s asleep, John.”

“ _Whuss…?_ ”

“Go to bed. Rosie’s sleeping.”

“Oh… _Hmmm_ … You managed…”

“Yes.”

“Thanks, Sherlock…”

“You’re welcome. You fell asleep too.”

“Well… I guess your voice just has that calming effect on everyone who happens to be in the vicinity… when you go full bedtime story mode.”

“Apparently. And there I was, hoping for a different sort of bedtime entertainment, now that we’re already skyping. But if you’re tired…”

“I’m awake! But hey… you’ll have to switch up the voice mode for that.”

“And you the room.”

“I’m on it. I’ll try not to kick the laptop off the bed this time.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“It was an accident. Heat of the moment.”

“John?”

“Hm?”

“I love you… to the moon and back.”

“Cute. Are you the big or the little hare?”

“Oh… Let’s get undressed and I’ll remind you.”

“You know what, on second thought… Let’s not use our daughter’s favourite picture book as dirty talk material. It feels… wrong.”

“Our d---?”

“Ah--- I… _erm_ …”

“Go to the bedroom, John, and get out of those clothes. _Now._ ”

 

**_Freak II_ **

_Freak._

Donovan’s voice is ringing in the back of Sherlock’s head, and despite all his feverish efforts to drown in out, it just keeps on bouncing back and forth inside his skull. He’s furious with himself for letting her in like that, but he can’t help it.

“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, hm?” John asks and stops nibbling his earlobe.

Sherlock bites his lip and shrugs, his fingers sliding into his lover’s silver-blond hair.

“Don’t stop,” he mutters.

He’s not ready to confess this embarrassingly human weakness that’s befallen him so suddenly.

“Come on,” John says softly and grins at him. “You’re thinking so loudly that it’s sort of distracting. You can at least tell me what it is that’s keeping you from enjoying my endeavours to get you naked.”

John’s rumbling, slightly rough voice is caressing the sore spot that’s tainting Sherlock’s soul, and he feels his walls crumble.

“Donovan,” he says lowly, and John presses a small kiss on his chin.

“What about her?”

“She keeps calling me names. Freak. I never cared about that in the past.”

Sherlock stares at his feet, painfully aware of John’s warm, loving gaze fixed on him.

“And now you do?” John wants to know.

Sherlock nods.

“Yes. It’s starting to affect me in a way it never did before---”

He stops in mid-sentence, the old reflex of protecting himself from exposing his emotions in front of others kicking in without his consent.

“Before…?” John insists.

Sherlock looks back up again.

“You,” he says and cringes.

“Me?”

John looks mildly confused, but also genuinely interested, so Sherlock finally plucks up the courage to elaborate.

“Yes. Ever since the two of us got involved, I’ve been feeling… new things. I don’t know how to express it. I’m afraid that I’m not able to limit my indulgence in sentiment to the degree I had planned to, which is to say… I can’t allow myself feelings when it comes to you and ignore the rest. That’s apparently not how it works.”

He realises that he’s talking much too fast, but it has to come out somehow, and fast seems to be the most comfortable way to do it. John gapes at him.

“You’re--- Listen, Sherlock, I have a lot of things to say to that, but I’ll have to kiss you first, okay?” he says after a brief pause.

Sherlock nods slowly, slightly taken aback by this turn of events.

“Okay…?”

John smiles and cups the side of Sherlock’s face with his right hand, then pulls him into a long, tender kiss. It’s chaste, just lips on lips, but Sherlock’s heart stumbles nonetheless. When they part again, John’s pupils have widened to an extent that makes his ocean-blue eyes look almost black.

“Sherlock, you’re so special. You’re unique,” he tells him, his hand still on his cheek. “Donovan has no idea who you really are. None of them has. Hell, sometimes I’m not even sure _I_ know what’s going on inside of you, but I assume that I get pretty close. What does _freak_ even mean? It just means you’re not normal, not like everyone else.”

“She doesn’t mean it like that,” Sherlock says, surprised by how defiant his voice sounds.

John scoffs.

“I don’t give a toss about what she means by it. To me, you’re _not_ normal indeed, and I love that about you. You’re the most interesting human being I’ve ever met, inside and out. I wouldn’t want you any other way. Please don’t mind what some narrow-minded idiots say about you, Sherlock. You’re wonderful. Wonderfully annoying sometimes, and wonderfully weird, but wonderful all in all.”

Sherlock’s mind is spinning. He’s really, really not good at this kind of conversation, and being showered with praise like that makes him feel uneasy. He doesn’t know how to deal with it, how to reply.

“John---” he starts, but trails off rather lamely, hating himself and his inability to behave like an ordinary person.

John gazes at him and runs his thumb across his cheekbone, tracing its shape as if trying to memorise it.

“I know you find it hard to talk about these things with me. You don’t have to say anything. It’s just--- I want you to let go when I’m around, okay? Don’t ever hide anything from me. I want to see it all, all the “freaky” stuff, or whatever you consider weird about yourself. I’d never judge you. And if you let me, I’m more than ready to support you in dealing with all those feelings that are confusing you sometimes. I’d--- I’d love it if you opened up to me.”

“I know,” Sherlock replies shyly, allowing his insecurity to shine through because John wants him to. “Thank you.”

John kisses the tip of his nose and then smirks at him, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Would you like me to tell her that you’re a freak in bed?” he asks huskily. “Because you are…”

Sherlock turns his head to the side. Now John’s just making fun of him.

“Stop it…”

John puts gentle pressure on his jaw and makes him face him again.

“I mean it… You’re so passionate, so adventurous… so different from what I expected you to be. You turn my world around when we’re together like this, Sherlock. You take my breath away. You make me see stars. You---”

“Are you mocking me?” Sherlock cuts him off. “Because it’s really starting to feel like that.”

John exhales loudly, a hint of annoyance palpable in the small sound.

“ _God_ , for a genius you’re really dense sometimes.”

He gets up and takes Sherlock’s hand, trying to make him get up as well and follow him, presumably to the bedroom. “Come on. Undress me. Make love to me, and look at my face while you do it.” He leans down and puts his mouth right next to Sherlock’s ear. “ _Deduce_ me,” he sighs before straightening up again, and the hot air brushing his skin makes Sherlock shudder in response.

John’s right. Deducing is good. It’s safe. Failproof.

He makes no move to rise. Instead he looks up at the older man with what he knows John will interpret as his “bedroom eyes” (he says he likes them like that) and reaches behind himself to slip his hand into the slit between the seat and backrest of the couch. When he’s found what he’s looking for, he pulls it out and holds it up for John to see. It’s a small bottle of lubricant.

John presses his lips together and huffs out a short laugh through his nose.

“Wonderful,” he then whispers and grins.

Then he sits down again.

 

**_How’s Narnia This Time of Year?_ **

“You’re _so_ pale! Christ… We’ll have to be careful, or you’ll just combust.”

“Well, it was you who insisted on staying in a cottage by the sea. I gather you were aware of the fact that I don’t enjoy the benefits of a honey-coloured complexion.”

“Honey-coloured. Hmm… Your _freckles_ are honey-coloured.”

“John. _Stop!_ This is a public beach. People might see!”

“They’ll see me kiss my boyfriend’s cute honey-coloured freckles, then. Big deal.”

“What if we get arrested for indecent behaviour?”

“ _You’re_ the one who always mocks me for being _in the closet_ too much. _How’s Narnia this time of year_ , remember?”

“I found that on the internet.”

“Wanna know what _I_ found on the internet?”

“No?”

“ _Inspiration_ , Sherlock. I might have been overstaying my welcome in Narnia, but I’m nothing if not a willing – and fast – learner.”

“I know…”

“I hope the walls of that cottage are soundproof.”

“Let’s go swimming. Maybe that will cool you down a little.”

“You think seeing you all wet and slippery will cool me down? Seeing the waves lap at those tight blue trunks when you walk into the water? Those are hugging you in all the right places, by the way…”

“John…”

“Someone’s _interested_ , I see. Are they getting uncomfortable already, hm? Should have bought some shorts instead. I’ve been hard ever since you took off your shirt, but my attire is hiding it well, see…?”

“John, I--- What about going back to the cottage right now and coming back here later? After the… midday heat is over?”

“Midday heat, huh?”

“John, _please_.”

“But we’ve just slathered you in sunscreen! That’ll all go to waste.”

“I thought you wanted something slippery. Please, let’s go, _now_.”

“Can I kiss your freckles then?”

“You can kiss my _everything_ , John, if we just. Leave. _Now_.”

“I’m taking your word for it.”

“Right. Inspiration?”

“You bet."


End file.
